Babyjacked: A Second Chance Romance

by Sosie Frost

  Fantastic.

  I couldn’t let myself get upset. God only knew if it would sour the milk, and I certainly didn’t like the thought of curds anywhere near my lovelies.

  Besides, I couldn’t do much to find my family now. My best course of action was to take life one breast-feed at a time. That would keep me on track, and I could stay focused on what was important.

  The baby.

  And me.

  The only way I’d managed to feed her was on the couch surrounded with a geometrically optimal arrangement of pillows, blankets, baby, and boob. I wiggled into the corner and angled myself between the back and arm.

  “Um…” I cleared my throat. “Could you…turn? Please?”

  Shepard glanced up from the instructions, eyebrows raised. “Oh. Not a problem.”

  “I don’t know if I’m doing it right yet, and a cover just makes the whole operation a mystery.” I laughed. “So, I’m sorry, I have to let it all out there. Hell, I’m not even sure the kid wants a front row seat to this circus.”

  “Well, she is sitting in the splash zone.”

  “If only. You have no idea how much more confident I’d feel if that were the case.”

  “I’m sure you’re doing fine.”

  “As long as I find my way to the barn once we’re done…” I soothed Clue with a soft hush. “Though you can imagine my disappointment when I realized I didn’t produce chocolate milk.”

  “It’s still early in the process.” He grinned. “Maybe that’s an advanced technique.”

  “Something to strive for. Olympic expressing. Gold medal ducts.”

  He adjusted the various pieces of crib, packaging, and components before him. Like a gentleman, he kept his back to me.

  “So…what’s her name?” he asked.

  A valid question, especially when I was about to stuff a boob in her mouth. She seemed eager, but I had no idea if I was doing well or not. I only hoped my let down would come in milk form and not perpetual disappointment.

  “I gave the nurses a name—but I don’t know if it’s right,” I said. “This is hard. What if I gave her the wrong name? Like, what if I called her Sarah, but the real me—the one with memories and instincts—wanted to call her Sasha? I don’t know. I don’t want to be mad at myself once I’m healed.”

  “You could always change it.”

  “Believe me, the kid’s gonna get screwed up enough. The last thing I want to do is call her one name for a couple days and then confuse her with a completely new identity.” I watched as her breathing shifted into tiny little gulps. That must have meant I did something right. “For now, I’m calling her Clue.”

  “Clue, huh?”

  “I figured you’d like that, Detective. She’s my only clue about who I am and where I come from.”

  “I like it.”

  “I don’t.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  “I’d rather her have a real name. A real home. A real family.” I shrugged. “A mother who knows who she is and where they’re from.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re getting disheartened already?”

  “I never back down from a challenge.”

  “How can you be sure?” He grinned. “You don’t know who you are.”

  Smart-ass. I hummed. “Well, I’m one-for-one on impossible challenges now. Setting a good precedent.”

  “True. Still, it would help me if you could remember anything at all.”

  The crib started to take shape. He bolted three of the four legs together and rested the crib against the wall.

  I shook my head. “Nothing. I should remember building her a crib. Painting the nursery walls. Buying clothes. But it’s all a fog.”

  “Well, at least you’re settled here. This is a great apartment.”

  “I don’t feel right taking it.”

  “Why not?”

  I studied the living room—the tall ceilings and hardwood, fireplace and huge windows overlooking the city. The kitchen was made of granite, the bathrooms the same, and my bed a fluff of king-sized softness.

  “I don’t know much about myself, but I have a feeling this place is better than where I came from.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Aside from my panicked gut-churning reaction around even the most helpful of police officers? “Let’s just say, I thought the bidet was a water feature in the bathroom.”

  “Dancing fountain?”

  “Oh, I was the only one dancing.” I stroked Clue as she settled against me, her eyes getting heavy. “I don’t think I came from a place as ritzy as this.”

  “Think you lived in the city?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What about types of people you might have known? Places where you liked to eat?”

  “I might have to try the fanciest French restaurant in Ironfield—see if I recognize it.”

  “Not the cheapest science experiment.” He laughed. It was a nice laugh. That was the sort of laugh I wished I recognized. “What about family? Do you have anything? Flashes. Names? Even a feeling?”

  “You’ll be the first I tell.”

  He nodded, wrench in hand. The crib stood on its own—three panels attached. He aimed for the springs next, plopping them into place and lying beneath the furniture to secure all the screws.

  “There’s no pressure,” Shepard said. “I’m sure the doctors told you—stress won’t help you remember.”

  I laughed. “Do you have experience with amnesiacs?”

  “You’d be surprised what people choose not to remember during my interrogations.”

  “Maybe they’d be more cooperative if you built their furniture too.”

  “We can try it…but I don’t do dishes.”

  “Laundry?”

  “Only if you like your clothes shrunk and tinted pink.”

  I winked. “What luck. Most of the clothes we have are tiny and pink. Can’t do any more damage here.”

  He flipped the wrench in his hand and steadied the springs. “I doubt there’s that much damage.”

  “Just brain.”

  “It seems temporary.” He snuck a peek at me from under the crib. “You’re doing good now.”

  “I’m sitting still.”

  “You’re feeding her.”

  I shrugged. “I dunno. From my perspective, it looks like she’s feeding herself.”

  “But you know how to change her. How to soothe her if she cries. How to put her down for a nap.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Are you convincing me or yourself?”

  “Busted?” he asked.

  “You’re interrogating me…but you’re also putting together my furniture. I’ll permit it.”

  “You got me,” he said. “This happens to an investigation into your case…and I’m here for a welfare check.”

  “So what do you think, Officer?”

  He tapped the crib. “I think Clue’s going to sleep like a baby in this thing.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “But I have to know…” His voice turned serious. “Do you need anything other than this crib?”

  “If you’re offering, you could move her dresser into the nursery. That’d be a big help.”

  “Of course. But that wasn’t what I meant. Do you think you’re capable of handling this alone?”

  “The hospital discharged me,” I said. “The nurses and doctors seemed confident.”

  “I know.”

  “And I’m taking care of her.” I didn’t dare gesture to the baby, not when she finally had a perfect latch.

  “Good. I’m just doing my job. Trying to make sure this doesn’t become…a situation.”

  I had a dry, happy baby munching down her dinner. For the first time in days, things were working in my favor. “We’re in one hell of a situation, but I can do this.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  I didn’t believe him. I didn’t want to harden my voice with the baby in my arms, so I scowled instead.

&nbs
p; “I might not know where I am, where I came from, or who made this kid with me, but if someone hands me a baby, I’m going to raise her. And I’m going to do it right. That’s the kind of woman I am.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m doing it now, aren’t I? I’m keeping this baby fed, safe, and warm.”

  Shepard stood, but he kept his eyes on the assembled crib. “Your baby.”

  “What?”

  “You’re keeping your baby fed, safe, and warm.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “No. It isn’t.” He turned to me. “You said this baby.”

  Damn it. “I’ve had an hour and a half of sleep in the last twenty-four. Cut me some slack on the adjectives.” I adjusted Clue closer to me. “She’s my baby.”

  “You don’t sound sure.”

  “I don’t remember being pregnant or giving birth. It’s a shock.” I huffed. “Do you want me to show you the stitches? What about the mobile dairy? That’s dynamite proof to me.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Do you?”

  “I’m just here to listen. And I’m hearing uncertainty. That’s all.”

  He had to be a detective. I clenched my jaw, but I wouldn’t let him win this one. “You want to know the truth? I’ll tell you, but it changes nothing. I’m still her mother.”

  Shepard nodded. “I’m trying to help, Evie.”

  “Then help me,” I said. “You’re right. This is very strange. And I am out of my element. I look at this baby…” Absolutely innocent and nuzzled to my breast. “And it feels like babysitting. Like I’m trying to keep her happy and healthy so that she’d be ready for her real mom.”

  “Real mom?”

  I tapped my head. “Me. But me with all my memories and preparation. Both of us are waiting for her to come back.” I met his gaze, those blue eyes not nearly as sharp now, just compassionate. “And we’re both waiting for her daddy.”

  He focused again on the crib, tucking the mattress into the frame. His words softened.

  “Evie, I think you’re going to do great.”

  “Do I meet your expectations?”

  “You’ve exceeded them. I thought you’d be…”

  I answered for him. “I’m too tired to panic.”

  “Good.”

  “Someone will come for us.” I had to be optimistic. “I know he’s out there. Waiting. Worrying. Trying to find us. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “You’re right,” Shepard said. “And, in the meantime, Clue should have a nice place to sleep.”

  “Speedy build too. If I had to guess, I’d say you built one of these before.”

  His expression darkened. He said nothing and looked away, kicking the packaging into the box.

  Uh-oh. I’d treaded a little too deep into his own secrets, and neither of us liked the implication.

  “Can I help with anything else?” He changed the subject.

  “I don’t need help. I need a memory.”

  “The offer stands.”

  I chuckled. “You want to take a shift feeding her?”

  “No, that’s definitely…your department.”

  “Then you’ve done more than enough, Detective Novak.”

  “Call me Shepard.”

  “First name basis now?”

  “We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I’m working your case.” He pulled a card from his pocket and set it on the coffee table, careful to avoid the copious amounts of bare breasts and illustrations from my hospital packets. “I want you to call me the instant you think of anything—even the smallest memory. A feeling. A name. Day or night, at any hour, you call me.”

  “Really?”

  “The most insignificant detail to you is valuable to me. Got it?”

  “Okay.” I’d have stood, but Clue wasn’t quite finished yet. “I appreciate the help.”

  He nodded. “You can trust me. If you need anything, I’m here.”

  I believed him. “Thanks, but we probably won’t even be on our own for long. I know my memory will return any minute now.”

  “In that case…” He winked. “Call me to celebrate.”

  “Absolutely.”

  And I would be sure to only speak to him over the phone.

  That man was too handsome, and my hormones too unpredictable, to let myself get trapped in his blue-eyed possession once again. I had enough problems to wrestle without sorting through an attraction to the handsome cop in charge of my case.

  I was exhausted, but that didn’t excuse such thoughts. I had a newborn in my lap. A life I couldn’t remember. A future to protect.

  I couldn’t depend on a gorgeous detective to help me. I knew what I had to do.

  First, I had to find my family.

  Then I had to find myself.

  3

  At least I had one doctor whose examination didn’t require stirrups. But, somehow, a psychologist seemed even more invasive than the OGBYN.

  Doctor Clark was a beautiful, kind-hearted, darling lady with skin the color of cocoa and the naivety of a Disney princess.

  But that didn’t mean the she-witch couldn’t see everything inside my head, swirl it around, and analyze the secrets I couldn’t remember. She came highly recommended, but unless she planned to crack my skull with her degree, we weren’t making progress with the memories locked so tightly away.

  “You’re frustrated,” Doctor Clark said. She tapped a pencil against her notepad. “It’s understandable. This is a difficult situation, Evie.”

  “Look, I don’t know much about my former life…but this doesn’t feel like it’ll help.”

  “Why?”

  I gestured over the room, with the art on the walls and soft music. “Because I don’t think I’m much of a talker. I’d rather take some action. Search for answers. Find my family myself.”

  “But you’re here instead.”

  “The hospital insisted,” I said.

  “Why would they do that?”

  She knew damn well why. “Because the concussion has healed, but the memories are still MIA.”

  “Then what’s the harm in talking?”

  What was there to talk about? “It’s been two weeks since the accident.”

  “Yes. Two weeks.”

  I gently rocked Clue’s stroller back and forth with my foot. Clue liked the motion, but my ankle was about to snap. Worth it for a happy baby.

  “Isn’t there anything you can do to trigger the memories to return?” I asked.

  “These things can’t be rushed. There’s a lot to heal.”

  “I am healed.” At least, I felt partially healed. Sitting was still a trick and a half.

  I stood and tugged on the stroller. Clue had kicked out of her swaddle. Again. She waved her arms in a quick demand.

  Diaper—Milk—Nap. Take me home.

  “There has to be something I can do to get rid of the amnesia,” I said. “Anything.”

  “Have you tried my suggestions?”

  “Meditating?” I laughed. “She’s a two-week old baby. I can’t meditate without falling asleep, and I can’t sleep for more than two hours without her waking me up.”

  Doctor Clark nodded. “Well, try to sleep as much as you can. A proper sleep cycle is responsible for the formation of long-term memories. Rest and REM sleep might be the key to unlock the memories you’ve lost.”

  The baby books said Clue wouldn’t sleep through the night for another six weeks—at least.

  Six weeks or six years, it was still too long. There had to be a way.

  “How is the baby?” Doctor Clark tucked her pencil behind her ear—losing it within tresses of perfectly straightened hair.

  I was too tired for this. “Clue knows something’s wrong. She’s just too polite to say anything.”

  “Do you think something’s wrong?”

  “You wake up one morning lactating and tell me your world-view hasn’t been dramaticall
y altered.”

  “Fair enough.” She paused. “Evie, I know you want answers immediately.”

  “I just want to know who I am.”

  “But you do know who you are. That hasn’t changed. What you’re looking for are the labels. A name. A place. A life.”

  “A family.” I slowed the stroller’s rocking as Clue fell asleep. “Somewhere out there, a man is looking for his daughter. It’s been two weeks. I can’t imagine how…terrified they are.”

  “Or how scared you are.”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “You aren’t?”

  “I have a roof over my head. I have food. Clothes. Doctors.” I hesitated. “It feels like this is more than I’ve ever had.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  I was getting tired of the guessing game. “Because I keep thinking how lucky the baby is to have these things.”

  Doctor Clark glanced at her notepad. She circled something, making a note. “You care about the baby?”

  What kind of question was that? “Of course. It’s not her fault this happened.”

  “It’s not yours either.”

  I retucked Clue’s swaddle as best I could. I thought I’d deflected the statement, but nothing got by Doctor Clark.

  I changed the subject instead. “Just give me something we can do. Exercises. Activities. Clinical studies. I can’t talk and hope to find answers.”

  “This will give us answers.”

  “How?”

  “We’re getting to know who you are. The more you learn about yourself, the more likely you are to remember bits and pieces of what makes you you.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “You said someone’s out there, looking for you. They’re probably terrified because you’ve given birth, and they weren’t there to help.” Doctor Clark motioned for me to sit once more. Her eyebrows furrowed, cute and fuzzy, but I wasn’t falling for the cuteness. “Who do you think is looking for you?”

  “The baby’s father.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “It’s fair to say I’m anything but holy. And Clue’s sweet, but she’s not divine. Someone helped to make her.”

  “So you assume her father is looking for you.”

  He had to be.

  The fast food bag plunked onto the picnic table. I wasn’t in the mood to eat, but stuffing the cheeseburger in my face would keep me from spilling all my secrets.